Saturday, December 19, 2015

Memory, they say, fades as you age, but I think it is truer
to say, at least for those of us who have kept our minds in working order, that
what we really do is refocus; the insignificant melds into the background of
our daily living, and the things that mattered most, that touched and changed
our hearts, stand out in stark relief. So, as I sit (for in age there is time
for sitting) I remember the Star, and the paradoxical king we found at
journey’s end.

Yes, we must have been crazy, as the world measures
craziness. I can understand now, why the people around us kept saying we were
mad. But I have learned that there is a madness that is saner than all the
kingdoms of the world and the glory of them, and I have no regrets. Life is so
much more than a careful balance sheet. I have heard that He, Himself, said
that (when He grew to be a man, I mean) – that a man must lose his life in
order to find it. That is truth of the highest, deepest order.

So we did it, following a star that blazed like no other
star has ever blazed, and moving like no other star we know has ever moved. The
Jews tell how, long ago, when they were exiles in the wilderness, they followed
a pillar of cloud by day, and a pillar of fire by night. That star was our
pillar of fire, and it lent an exotic gladness to our weary, sometimes
frustrating, miles.

Then we made a mistake, a mistake that came from the fact
that, while we strove to understand the star, we had not striven to understand
the king that it heralded. So we went to King Herod’s palace, and spoke to that
greedy, paranoid, treacherous old man, who only wanted to know about our quest
so that he could intervene to destroy a potential rival. I still cannot recall
him without shuddering. Such a king knew nothing of the one we sought.

But then we found him, and our world turned upside down.
Here was no palace, here were no insignia of power. The sheer ordinariness of
it all stunned and confused us. We did what we had come to do: we brought our
gifts and we offered our homage. We went through the motions, and we wondered
much. So we stayed a while and we asked our questions, and we answered theirs,
for it is not every day that men arrive from a far kingdom bearing princely
gifts to an ordinary village. We learnt of his supernatural conception, of
angels and strange prophecies, and how even the decrees of distant Caesar were
woven into God’s plan. We learned that there was no inn, no guest room for
them, and how they had been offered shelter with the beasts, and there she had
given birth and laid the child in a manger, whilst the skies outside were
bursting with the song of angels. And we wondered even more.

We returned home another way, for we were warned in a dream
of Herod’s intentions, but we did not lose touch. Rome is not the only place
where information can be bought. And years later, after he had grown to
manhood, died, and risen again to claim his everlasting kingdom, one of his
followers came here, and I learned the rest of the story, and thanked the God
of Heaven that I had lived to hear it all. It is my privilege and my joy to
remember, it is my privilege and my joy to look forward to meeting Him again,
this time in the glory of His own kingdom. And I marvel at the King of Paradox:
that He, far outranking any earthly king, needed none of their panoply or pomp,
but instead was enthroned in rough-hewn wood, from the manger to the cross. And
now He reigns in a glory no petty little Herod, or Caesar with all his raw
power, could imagine in their wildest dreams.

Saturday, December 05, 2015

He went down into the water. It was not his first descent,
or his greatest. He had already descended from heaven to earth, put off his
immortality and infinity to share our finite mortal state: creator reduced to
creature. And he would go down further, into unimaginable horror: darkness and
death and separation and damnation. He who was everything, from whom all things
take their being, would become nobody and nothing, a dehumanised thing from
which men turn away their eyes. This was not that day, but it was a decisive
step towards that day. For this purpose he had been born. So he went down.

He went down into the water. His cousin, who had known him
for what he truly was when they were both still in the womb, hailed him as “the
Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world”; but in that clamorous throng,
who listened, who understood? He was just another man come to hear the strange
prophet who had emerged from the wilderness, one of the many in the dusty, milling,
jostling crowd. He was just another man seemingly answering the call to
repentance, lining up to go down into the water and be baptised.

He went down into the water. He had nothing to repent of,
for he was without sin. He wore no shame, for when he took on human flesh there
was no shame in being material finite. He had no shame, he had no sin, but we
did. He had never walked away from God, but we have. He had never tried to
build a righteousness of his own based on empty works, for he was righteousness
incarnate. He had never constructed a hollow façade of religious practices, for
he was the one who fulfilled the law and the prophets. He had never done any of
these things, but we had, and we still do, and he carried it for us, down into
the water.

He went down into the water. And his cousin was shocked. This
was the wrong way round. John knew who stood before him, and he knew he, a mere
man, wasn’t worthy to so much as tie his shoes, let alone baptise him. But
Jesus said that this was fitting, to fulfil all righteousness. John did not
know what that meant, but how could he refuse the one he had been born to
serve? So Jesus went down.

He went down into the water. And as he came up again. And
the Spirit of God descended on him in the form of a dove, and a voice spoke to
him from the thunder of heaven, saying, “This is my Son, my beloved, and I am
well –pleased with him.” It was done, he was accepted to be the True Israel and
the Second Adam. And so, wrapped in the Father’s love, he went down, into the
desert, to face the bitter temptations of humankind, and resist them to the
uttermost

.He went down so that, when he had descended to the
uttermost, we might be raised with him.

About Me

Mother of two grown up kids,and very long time married, after many years as a full-time mum, then a part-time theological student I'm now trying to be useful in my local church whilst working out what the next step is.I'm passionate about Jesus, treasure the people in my life and dream of being a preacher. I'm a would-be poet, a slightly eccentric cook, and an INFP (which must explain something).
And I'm a pickle: a weird shaped lump of something-or-other, a bit salty, a bit sweet, definitely an acquired taste, preserved by the grace of God and trying to add a bit of flavour to the blandness of modern life.